I touch your cheek,

I'm surprised, it's cold.

I reach for your hand

for I need it to hold.

I look upon your face

that beamed and sparkled

as we loved and laughed,

wrestled and tickled.

Your face is so pallid,

the sparkle is gone,

no more to smile

at the hot summer sun.

Your hair neatly tended,

you lie there so still

as I try, with memories,

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There was a man I knew,

not too close, not too far,

as a child he was there

to tend to my scars.

A man with a past,

of that I had no doubt,

a man, when provoked,

who knew how to shout.

A happy man

with a smile for all,

he'd always be there to

pick me up when I'd fall.

And though never far away,

we were never very close,

a sign of those times

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Dexteram Patris

Uncomfortable
seeing him that way,
and she,
ever supportive,
gently touching
his arm
for reassurance

but there is a failing,
something not the same,
although in looks
we are so similar.

The Prodigal returns
and sees his father,
straight of back
and stern of countenance,
falling to pieces.

The once proud frame -
busted

and she,
as beautiful as always,
...

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October-7-1997
Trisha M. Hopkins

{I}
Waiting for him, sitting in the car
Under the erie moonlight
Imagening what he'll do 
Seing him in the distance, Seeing him in the night
His mind shouting "I'm going to get you!"

{II}
He sees himself going after the man
He sees himself dragging him, dragging, dragging
Tying the man up
Everything is so dim
Under the erie moonlight

{III}
Torc...

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